


Le Beau et Le Bete

by LydiaLovestruck



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-20
Updated: 2014-12-20
Packaged: 2018-03-02 10:45:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2809505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LydiaLovestruck/pseuds/LydiaLovestruck
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Originally written for Kardasi's From Dusk till Dawn Severus Snape/ Harry Potter Fuh-Q-Fest for the following specific challenge prompts: (134) Harry is given/finds a box of his parents' mementos. What's in it? (Downdilly); (137) While going through a box of his parents things, Harry finds a contract where he was betrothed to Snape as an infant. (ProfSnapeFan); (156) Write an adaptation of "Beauty and the Beast" with Harry as the beauty and Snape as the beast (Kira); (180) Harry's first kiss with Severus triggers some accidental magic... (J. Lynn). Therefore, not much about this story is original, including some of the imagery and the story beats, which are based on Jean Cocteau's romantic masterpiece. For this round of the Fuh-Q-Fest, stories were to be kept to a maximum of 10,000 words. This story has been edited and expanded slightly since then for clarity. It's a fairy tale. Do I have to stress how AU it is?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Transgression

Once upon a time, not terribly long ago, a man Apparated into the middle of Belmore Forest. Bleeding from a gash on his leg, the man stumbled to one side, bracing himself against a tree. He cursed, his leg aching with pain. Glancing around, he immediately realized three things: he was alone, he was seriously wounded, and he was lost.

Night was coming to the forest. The man, intimately familiar with the sound, heard a wolf’s howling and judged it to be distant enough. Above his head, an owl hooted, then took flight. I can’t stay here, the man thought to himself. He took a few steps and nearly fell.

Forests can be dangerous places for man and beast, but beasts have the advantage of vision, strength and speed, so the man transformed. A moment passed and a six-point buck strode from the clearing, blood leaking steadily from a wound in its near hind leg. At least he was now able to clamber over thickets and brambles.

The buck cleared several small streams, but eventually found his way into a larger clearing marked by a small cottage. A cheerful light shone through the small, curtained windows and a constant line of smoke puffed from the single chimney. The buck transformed back into its human form, staggered a bit, and approached the house.

“Anybody home?” he called.

There was no reply. The man glanced around. The house was obviously lived-in. He caught sight of a small garden in the half-moonlight, but no car, no garage, no mailbox, no driveway even, no sign of modern living whatsoever. He knocked on the door. To his surprise, the door swung gently open.

The man called out again, but no one answered. Within, he spied a cramped, but well-organized kitchen-cum-parlor. An iron pot hung suspended over the low fire in the hearth. A single bowl and spoon lay waiting on a rough wooden table. Rows of shelving held books and implements of all sorts. The man called out yet again, then stepped through the door, closing it behind him.

“I’m letting myself in,” he announced. “Uh… I hope you don’t mind, but I could really use your hospitality. I’m, uh, bleeding here.”

He waited. No answer. “Hello? Is anyone here at all?”

The enticing smell of stew almost overpowered him, but he forced himself into the small lavatory off the main room. He easily found clean bandages and antiseptic salve, as well as topical healing ointment. He noticed the toilet seat was up. This is a wizard’s house, he decided, and felt better about things.

He pushed the bathroom door shut and removed his trousers, examining his wounded thigh carefully. It was a terrible gash; it had been a terribly painful blow. He had been ordered to provide cover for another operative during a reconnaissance mission. They had been discovered. He had no idea if Sirius had made it back to Order headquarters safely, but if the man’s luck held true, he needn’t worry overmuch.

The salve and ointment did their job, and almost immediately the man felt better. He cleaned the blood off his leg and washed the grime off his face. He resisted the urge to brush his hair – there were limits to how much he could impose on his unseen host.

But those limits, after an hour’s rest, did not extend to his hunger. Judging from the single bed in the small bedroom, only one person lived in this cottage. There was definitely more than a single serving in the pot simmering over the fire. The man helped himself to a bowl of stew. It was so delicious, he had to force himself not to have thirds.

By the time he was feeling strong enough to depart, the storm that had been threatening that area of England all day finally broke, keeping the man indoors.

“I wonder where you are, mister,” the man muttered, staring out the window into the torrential rains. He sighed, deciding to remain until the storm subsided. It would have been rude to Apparate from inside the house; such magic was known to cause unexpected collateral damage, particularly in small, enclosed spaces. Besides, with the lightening even now sparking overhead, he ran the high risk of splinching himself.

Eventually, the pounding rain, the late hour, the bone-weariness, the good food and the dark room led him to lay down on the bed and close his eyes. He did not wake up until past dawn the next day.

The man stretched upon awakening. Puzzled by his host’s continued absence, the man washed up in the lavatory, changed his bandage and helped himself to a chunk of bread in the ‘keep-fresh’ box. Thinking again how strange it was that no one had come home during the night, yet had left stew on to heat, he decided it was one of those mysteries of life that would have to go unexplained.

He thought a moment longer, then reached into his pocket and withdrew a handful of galleons. Taking a sheet of parchment and quill, he hastily wrote an explanation for his behavior, added an invitation to redeem the hospitality granted him, and placed that and the money on the mantel. Satisfied he had followed the rules of etiquette his mother had always tried to teach him, he opened the door and stepped outside.

Almost ready to Apparate, the man suddenly noticed something he had not the night before: a trailing vine of roses curled around the doorframe. They were beautiful and the man, thinking of his young wife, decided to take one as an apology to her for not coming home the night before. He had barely finished separating the most perfect bloom from the vine when he heard a sudden noise behind him. The man spun around, his wand ready.

“I might have known you could not behave honorably, even when left to your own devices, James Potter.”

“How -?” James gaped. “Snape? What are you doing out here in the middle of nowhere?” For he had instantly recognized the man despite his hooded cape.

“I live here, Potter,” Snape sneered. “Or didn’t you realize that when you broke in last night?”

“You? Live here?” James gestured over his shoulder. The cottage he had spent such a surprisingly comfortable evening in did not jibe with his impression of his slimy schoolmate. No, Severus Snape, the quintessential Slytherin, would live in a dank, mold-infested dungeon, or in some crumbling ancestral monstrosity, never in a chocolate-box cottage with matching curtains, for Merlin’s sake!

“I do,” Snape replied. “And you broke and entered and stole from me. Thankfully, we’re not in school any longer. I can appeal to the authorities about seeking restitution for your crimes.”

“Restitution?” James repeated. “Try again. I left money inside with a note. Six galleons. More than enough to pay for the food and supplies.”

Snape waved his words away. “I don’t care about that. Such things are easily replaced. What concerns me is the flower. That cannot be so easily forgot.”

“Well, I can’t just put it back,” James retorted. He felt a twinge of guilt for his rather thoughtless action, but he suppressed it. This was a flower, not a book or money or anything like that. Another would just grow in its place. James thought it was silly to get upset about such a thing, and he said as much.

“One copy of Moste Potente Potions is very like another. One galleon spends as easily as another. But a flower is unique. Each one, an individual. You have taken something priceless, damaged something perfect. This vine will never grow the same way again. You have robbed it and you have robbed me. I demand recompense.”

James stared at Snape’s face, still shadowed in the morning light. An old habit urged him to argue, hex Snape and leave, or tear the rose into pieces and toss it at Snape’s feet. But he was a grown-up now. He was a responsible citizen, as Lily often told him, a husband and father. He needed to set an example for little Harry, even though Harry was barely twelve months old and wouldn’t know the difference.

The Potters were not the Blacks, the Malfoys, nor the Snapes. No, James had honor and he would fulfill it. Sucking up his frustration, he said calmly, “Very well, Snape. What do you want for the rose? I can give you money, if you like.”

“I don’t need your money.”

“Really? Judging from this place, you might want to reconsider. 100 galleons.”

“No.”

“Five hundred.”

“No.”

“A thousand.”

Snape chuckled, a dark and threatening sound. “Not even if I thought you were serious. No. I don’t want money. Despite appearances, I don’t need it, either.”

“Then what do you want?”

Snape made a show of consideration. Finally, he looked up at James and said, “I want a servant. Or assistant, if you prefer.”

James blinked in astonishment. “You want me to be your servant? I can’t! I have a job, family, responsibilities!”

Looking him up and down, Snape shook his head. “No, not you. I couldn’t stand to look at you longer than I had to. I’m even finding this conversation tedious. No. I’ve decided. Go home. Go into your house. The first living thing that greets you, that’s who I’ll expect to become my ‘servant’.”

The first who greets me? James thought wildly. Who usually met him at the door, Lily or Snuffles? Thinking quickly and hoping to drive Snape off the scent, he shouted, “I’m not going to let you have Lily! Is that the only way you can get any?”

“I don’t want your wife,” Snape said. “I don’t like girls that way.”

“What, you mean like Mudbloods?” His mouth twisted with the profanity.

“No, you twit. I don’t like girls.”

James frowned. “Then what would you do with her?”

“Haven’t you been listening? I need a servant. An assistant. Relax, Potter. I won’t be making sexual advances. My tastes don’t run in that direction.”

“You’ll get Lily over my dead body!”

“That can be arranged,” Snape replied coolly. “If you value your honor, however, you won’t make a fuss. You owe me something unique and irreplaceable. The first person who greets you upon your return to your home will satisfy my demands and we will call this thing even. Agree, or face the consequences for your theft of my humble abode. Answer quickly. I can have Aurors here in moments.”

There wasn’t anything to be done. James nodded, shook Snape’s hand to seal their agreement and, deliberately wiping his palm on his robes, Apparated homeward.

Godric’s Hollow lay on the outskirts of a small wizarding village in north Yorkshire. James stepped through the garden gate and hurried to the front door. He paused a moment, hoping against hope that Snuffles, the family Labrador, would do his usual someone’s-at-the-door-must-bark-and-tackle routine. He took a deep breath, opened the door and shouted, “I’m home! Where are you, Snuffles? Come here, boy!”

Someone answered, but not the dog.

“Da! Da! Home!”

A tiny boy dressed in footed pajamas giggled and waved from his playpen, which stood in the center of the parlor. It was his son, his pride and joy, his Harry.

Lily, who had been in the kitchen pouring coffee when the door opened, came into the parlor to see her husband cradling their son in his arms, weeping.

“What is it? James, what’s happened? What’s wrong?”

Not even ten minutes of explanation, furious discussion and tearful negotiation later, Snape knocked on the open front door of Godric’s Hollow.

“I understand our contract has been initiated,” he said smoothly, unpocketing his wand. “Now, who shall be coming back with me, hm?”

“You’re not welcome here, Severus,” Lily warned. She held Harry in her arms, but turned away to shield him with her body. “Get out before I have James hex you!”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he sneered back at her, stepping inside. “Your husband and I have an agreement and I am here to collect.” He waved his wand and a faint yellow glow surrounded Lily and her son.

“So it’s you,” Snape said. “Don’t worry. I’m only at home a scant six weeks of the year. The rest of the time you’ll be at Hogwarts with me. There won’t be much for you to do beyond preparing ingredients for potions and the like. I have quite a large number of research projects planned. I think you can handle washing a few cauldrons and skinning a few shrivelfigs to my exacting specifications, can’t you? And if you’re good, I’ll let you have one night a month to spend with your… devoted husband. How does that sound, hm?”

Lily shot a look at James, then bent down to place Harry in his playpen. The boy promptly sat on his well-padded bottom and stared up at the adults, his huge green eyes blinking slowly.

“Very well, Severus,” Lily said. “I’ll pack a bag and–“

“Hold on,” Snape said, lifting his hand as Lily turned toward the stairs. “There’s something wrong. You’re trying to trick me. It isn’t you at all. It’s… this brat!” He stared into the playpen where a faint yellow glow surrounded little Harry’s pudgy body. There was no such glow around Lily.

Helplessly, Lily and James stared at each other. James grabbed Snape’s arm. “Snape, you can’t take him!”

“I don’t intend to,” Snape replied. “Besides, what would I do with him? I’d have to take care of him and the point is to have someone take care of me! Merlin, what a mess.”

“So you see, this deal you and James made isn’t worth maintaining,” Lily said with a rush of relief. “You can agree to dissolve it and we’ll just forget this whole thing ever happened.”

There was silence, and then Snape said, “Oh, you’d like that, wouldn’t you! Once again a Potter steals from me without reparation? Not this time – no! I intend to hold you to it, and if the only thing I can take from you is your son, then I’ll take your son!”

James had produced his wand before Snape could close his mouth.

“However,” Snape said quickly. “As I’ve no interest in infants, I’ll amend our earlier agreement. When this spawn of yours leaves Hogwarts, on the day he is to return on the train following his completion of his NEWTs, he shall come home with me and begin his servitude.”

Lily managed to ask in a reasonably even tone, “What do you mean, ‘servitude’? What will you have him do? James told me… you’re a homosexual.”

“How brave you are,” Snape cooed, “to say that word without flinching.” He stared down at the child. “I am, indeed, but I shall assure you again I have no interest in children. If I did, I would not be lingering here debating this. The child will not be harmed by me. That sort of behavior holds no appeal.”

Silence. Then James whispered, “For the rest of his life? Is he to have nothing for his own?”

Snape sighed audibly. “Twenty-five years. That’s all. Then he’ll be free and, I can assure you, most knowledgeable about potions. He’ll have no trouble securing a position afterward.”

“Twenty-five years,” Lily repeated, looking at her husband. He nodded. “It’s a lovely rose,” she added.

“It was unique,” Snape told her. “Keep it in a solution of iced water, cactus juice and essence of shredded elderberries. In three weeks, it will take root. Plant in dry soil fourteen inches deep. Water frequently with the solution until first hoarfrost. It should do well enough.”

“It’s a deal,” James said finally. He held out his hand. Snape regarded it for a long moment, then shook it.

“Now, get out and leave us alone,” James said. “Harry will meet you on the last day of his seventh year at Hogwarts.”

Snape frowned. “Harry? His name is Harry? What kind of name is ‘Harry’ for a wizard?”

Lily’s smile froze. “It was my father’s name and I like it. You heard my husband, Snivellus. Get out.”

Snape left.

****

Three months later, James and Lily were dead and their newly scarred son was living with relatives in Muggle obscurity.

Snape put his copy of the wizarding agreement into his magical safe and waited patiently.

Then Voldemort reappeared.

****

When Harry Potter returned to Privet Drive after his Fifth Year, he went up to his room, took out a sheet of parchment, and wrote a furious letter to the headmaster of that school, and then tore it up. After forcing himself to calm down, which took several days, he reattempted the letter. This one, he sent.

His favorable reply came within twenty-four hours. Yes. Albus Dumbledore would assist Harry Potter in declaring himself an emancipated adult and claiming his inheritance.

As promised, Dumbledore convinced the Wizengamot to affirm the boy’s independence. No one suspected it would take eighteen months to get the Gringotts goblins to agree.

First, the goblins had to research James and Lily’s will, confirm Harry’s identity as sole heir of the Potter estate, and then confirm Sirius Black’s death, and that the terms of his will were carried out properly. In many ways, it would have been easier if the Potters had died intestate, but then Harry would have had to pay out most of his inheritance in taxes.

The goblins were thorough. They performed a variety of earth magics in an attempt to locate Black. If the man were alive, regardless of his personal legal status, he would be considered Harry’s guardian until the boy graduated Hogwarts. The goblins were unconcerned with the circumstances of Black’s death, which suited Dumbledore and Harry fine. It helped no one to know that Sirius had not only successfully escaped Azkaban, but moved freely enough through the Ministry itself as to cause spell damage to the Department of Mysteries without once being stopped by the slightest security measure.

Finally, just after Christmas of 1997, the goblins declared Harry’s right to fully access his family’s vault and safety deposit boxes. Unfortunately, Harry was unable to leave the school grounds. Voldemort was everywhere. Fortunately, Hermione realized that Gringott’s might accept a written request. Wouldn’t the goblins send Harry’s parents’ things, if Harry asked politely?

Of course they would. And they did. Two months later, the box was delivered during the morning owl rush, but Harry was late for Transfiguration, so he stowed the box in his trunk and hurried off to class. It was the weekend before he thought to look at it.

“I’m sort of curious to know what’s in it, myself,” Ron said happily as he and Harry trudged up the stairs to their room.

“It’s probably all boring papers and things,” Harry replied. “But I hope there’s something interesting at least. A picture, maybe. Or a letter. It’d be kind of nice to have something with my mum’s writing on it. I’ve seen my dad’s on the map, you know.”

They entered the room, checking swiftly to be certain they were alone. Harry grabbed the box out of his trunk while Ron pulled the drapes shut around Harry’s bed. Ron cast a silencing spell. Harry scrambled onto the bed and sat cross-legged facing his best friend, the box between them.

“Ready?” Harry asked.

Ron nodded. “Open it, already!”

Harry ran a hand along the side of the smooth wooden box, carefully unwarded the lock, then pushed a hidden button. The top popped open. Harry took a deep breath and pulled back the lid to peer inside.

The box was full almost to bursting, but it seemed to be mostly, “Papers.”

Ron looked sympathetic. “There might be important things in there. Deeds to a castle or something.”

Harry shrugged and lifted off the first rolled set of parchment. Opening it, he quickly scanned the elegant script.

“Hmm,” he said. “Looks like my dad’s Auror papers. Take a look.” He handed the certificates to Ron, who eagerly flipped through them. “And some school reports. Must be my mother’s.”

“Why d’you say that?” Ron asked, still focused on James Potter’s papers.

“They’re grammar school reports,” Harry explained. “You know. Muggle school.”

“I’ve never seen any.”

With a shrug, Harry handed them over, too.

“Let’s see…” He flipped through another stack of parchment. “Looks like my dad’s Hogwarts certs. Yup,” he said lifting up a letter on familiar stationery. “Here’s his ‘Head Boy’ letter. Oh! And his badge.”

Ron frowned. “I thought they passed that thing from year to year.”

“He probably nicked it.”

“What else you got?”

“NEWT reports, OWL scores. He did really well. And here’s my mother’s reports,” he added, lifting out a larger stack of papers.

They flipped through a dozen photographs of people Harry recognized only from photos his aunt rarely displayed. “These are my grandparents,” he said. “My Muggle grandparents.”

“It is so strange they don’t move,” Ron said, staring at the images.

“Who is this?” Harry wondered, peering at one small photograph.

“There’s writing on the back.”

Harry flipped it over, then gasped. He stared at the picture once more.

“Who is it?”

“It’s me,” Harry said. “It’s me as a baby.” He showed it to Ron.

Ron grinned. “You look funny without the scar. And so fat!”

“I am not fat!”

“Relax,” Ron said. “Mum says all babies should be fat. Proves they’re getting enough to eat.”

Harry shrugged. “There’s still so much here,” he said, staring into the box. 

“It’s probably one of those never-full boxes,” Ron said knowledgeably. “You know. Bigger on the inside than the out.”

Harry was ready to dive back in when Ginny burst through the door. “Harry! Ron! Come quick! Hermione’s sick!”

In seconds, the papers were back in the box inside Harry’s trunk. The boys raced downstairs to the common room where they found Hermione, unconscious, a decapitated chocolate frog beside her.

****

Voldemort had attacked Hogwarts, and Dumbledore, through the natural appetite of children for candy. Hermione Granger was the first to discover this, when she bit into a chocolate frog in an effort to curb her PMT.

Not only had chocolates been poisoned, but Sugar Quills, Every Flavour Beans, and cockroach clusters as well. And not just Hermione had fallen prey to this insidious attack, but students from every House, and the younger Hogsmeade children. And not just the youngsters, either. Professor Flitwick succumbed to a tainted lemon sherbet.

Dumbledore immediately confiscated and destroyed all candy. Professor Snape used a sample to help find a cure for the poisoned populace. Fortunately, he had some foreknowledge of Voldemort’s plan and was able to create a prophylactic potion, which was added to the student’s regular servings of pumpkin juice. A cure followed shortly after and was swiftly distributed. Aurors began guarding all shipments of foodstuffs.

Upon recovering, Hermione told of a similar series of events in the Muggle UK, and how the perpetrator had been found months earlier and deemed insane. She figured it had to have been a trial run. Ron suggested tracking the poison to its source. Careful investigation led Aurors to a Lancaster warehouse. Luck netted them two Death Eaters and from there, they traced through the opposition’s ranks until they found Voldemort’s headquarters and the Dark Lord himself.

The end was swift and sweet. Harry challenged Voldemort to a duel and won by countering Avada Kedavra with Agape Eternus. With that one charm, Harry destroyed all that was twisted and evil about Tom Riddle, reducing him to the mentality of an infant, although he kept his adult body. Riddle was brought to the Department of Mysteries where he was put under strict observation. What happened to him after that, no one ever knew for certain.

****

Harry dealt with his newfound fame as well as he could, by concentrating on his NEWTs. He wasn’t certain he wanted to be an Auror after graduation, but he knew he did not want to continue with academics, like Hermione, who was considering several apprenticeships. A few Quidditch teams were trying to recruit Ron, and while Harry thought that might be a nice way to make a living, he still wasn’t sure it was right for him. And then, the night before he was due to leave school for the last time, still in a celebratory mood from a sixth of firewhiskey filched from Filch’s office, he remembered his parents’ box.

Ron was busy snogging Hermione in one corner of the common room, so Harry went up to his room alone. He got the box, drew the curtains around his bed, cast a silencing spell, and lifted the lid.

Harry took his time going through the documents. He examined the pictures more closely, startled to see the head of a Black Labrador enter one frame and lick a fat baby Harry. “We had a dog?” he wondered out loud, turning the photograph. Then he chuckled to himself. The inscription read Harry & Snuffles, December 1980.

“So that’s where Sirius got the name,” Harry said softly. “Fancy that.”

Mixed in toward the bottom of the box were some of his godfather’s papers. He found the deed to Grimmauld Place and a motorcycle repair manual. Tucked into the pages of the well-worn book was a folded sheaf of paper.

Harry opened it.

He read it.

He screamed.

No one came running, because the silencing spell was still in place, so he screamed again. He read the paper once more, screamed once more, then bolted out of bed and ran down the stairs, through the common room and out the portrait hole.

He ran all the way to the Headmaster’s office.

Screaming.

****

“You didn’t know? You know everything!”

“Now, Harry,” Dumbledore said. “That’s impossible. No one is omniscient, and if your parents arranged this… contract… with Professor Snape without telling anyone else…” He shrugged.

“But! This is… intolerable! Inconceivable! Insane!” Flabbergasted, frustrated and furious, Harry leapt to his feet and began to pace. Growling softly, he grabbed a trinket off the mantel and held it in one hand.

“Harry,” Dumbledore said softly. “If you don’t mind, I’d rather not lose that piece. It’s rather precious to me. If you must throw something, I’ll gladly conjure something for you. I haven’t quite recovered from the last time you ‘trashed’ my office.”

Harry’s shoulders drooped. “Sorry.”

“That’s quite all right,” the older man replied. “When Professor Snape arrives, I am certain all our questions will be answered.”

“Great.”

Ten minutes later, Snape arrived, took his usual seat, and asked, “You sent for me?”

The situation was outlined and Snape examined the document, all the while ignoring Harry’s constant glare.

“Yes?” Snape said blandly. “And the question is…?”

“Is this true?” Harry blurted out. “It can’t be true! There’s no way my parents would ever have agreed to this.”

“On the contrary,” Snape said smoothly, “it is not only true, it is a valid contract and you must, as they say, pay up. I shall be leaving Hogwarts in three days. You will assist me in packing my things for the journey.”

Dumbledore’s expression saddened. “And now your missive this morning makes sense,” he said.

Harry waited as long as he could before curiosity forced him to break the silence and ask, “What missive?”

A look passed between the other two before Snape replied, “I resigned my position this morning.”

“You quit?”

“That is what ‘resigned’ means,” Snape said dryly.

“Then what… what is all this about?” Harry stabbed a finger at the document still in Snape’s grasp.

“I thought it was all quite clear,” Snape said. “But perhaps I was mistaken. Alas. I had expected you to be intelligent enough to understand basic English. In three days’ time, I shall be leaving Hogwarts forever and so will you. You are contracted to obey me for the next twenty-five years of your life. I desire an assistant and that you shall become. I do not need one here, where I have classrooms full of students eager to be assigned the task of sweeping up laboratories, chopping ingredients, testing potions.”

“I refuse!”

“That is impermissible,” Snape replied.

At the same time, Dumbledore said, “You may choose to do that, but you will be required to pay the consequences.”

“Which are?” Harry said. Surely they could not be as bad as slaving for Snape until he was – good lord! Forty-three. He’d be old!

“Simply put,” Dumbledore said, “A heavy fine and ten years in Azkaban.”

“Why should I be imprisoned for breaking a contract?”

“Because, Potter,” Snape sneered. “Contracts are the very essence of life. We depend on contracts to keep our society running smoothly. For example, there is a social contract between the people and the government, and one between the teachers and the students. If you break a contract, you endanger society.” He grinned nastily. “Society doesn’t like that.”

Harry still glared at him.

“Besides,” Snape went on, “do you really want to be known as Harry Potter, the boy who wouldn’t fulfill his parents’ agreements?”

Harry couldn’t say that he did. Once, he might have gladly paid the fine and spent his life in Azkaban, if only to prove his independence. But lately, he’d come to realize that it was better to pick your battles, rather than let them pick you.

“What would I have to do,” Harry asked, “exactly?”

Snape smiled. “Meet me tomorrow in my office after your little friends leave on the train, and I’ll be happy to outline your duties.”

Harry groaned. “And what am I supposed to tell people about this? Do you really want everyone to think of you as a slave owner?”

“What do I care what people think?” Snape asked with a laugh. “And it’s not slavery. It’s more properly termed indentured servitude.”

“All this for a stupid flower?”

Snape sobered immediately. “I’ll not speak of that bloom to you or anyone else. I expect you promptly at eleven in my office. Be thankful I allow you to say goodbye to your friends at all.”


	2. Le Bete

Harry appeared promptly in Snape’s office where he was put to work cleaning shelves, scouring cauldrons and cataloguing the ingredients cupboards. As he worked, he managed to get Snape to tell him a bit more about their future together. Apparently, Snape had a cottage, he and Harry were going to go live in it together, and Harry was going to be his ‘miserable servant’ for the next twenty-five years.

“What happens if you die before then?” Harry asked.

“Your servitude ends,” Snape replied easily.

Harry couldn’t decide if the man was offended by the question or not.

At one point, Harry broke open a fresh pack of bottlebrush, spilling the flowered stalks. Snape simmered for a long moment before finally shouting, “Ten points from –“ and then falling silent.

Harry and Snape looked at each other, one timid, the other enraged, before Snape finally said mildly, “Fuck, Potter. Those are not cheap.”

Harry blinked. The idea of Snape using what Aunt Petunia called ‘gutter talk’ seemed strangely hilarious, but he knew better than to laugh.

“Sorry, sir,” he said, sweeping the bottlebrush into a pile. “I think they’re mostly still all right. You’ll just have to remember to use the open batch first.”

Snape grunted and they returned to their respective tasks.

**

When it was time for them to leave Hogwarts, Harry found himself both wistful and frightened. He’d fully expected to end up at the Weasleys’, having said ‘goodbye forever’ to the Dursleys’ last August, if only until Quidditch tryouts began. But now he was going somewhere completely unexpected. Adventure had always appealed to him, but nothing about this situation suggested the remotest possibility of either excitement or fun.

In short, his prospects sucked.

**

Harry’s first impression of Snape’s cottage was an impossibly tiny collection of rooms and a sinking feeling he could only express by asking, “Am I to sleep on the floor, then?”

Snape granted the young man a sneer and barked his first official order, “Shut the door and pull the drape.”

Harry did as he was told. The room darkened. “Now what?”

“As obtuse as your father,” Snape growled, then added, “Thankfully.”

“Why?”

Snape waved his wand at a cleared space on the floor before the hearth. He glanced up at Harry. “The password is ‘Jean,’” he said, clearly meaning for Harry to memorize it. Even as he said the word, a trapdoor opened, revealing stone steps leading into the earth.

“’John’?” Harry repeated.

“It’s French,” Snape replied. “Come on, now. Down you go.”

Harry preceded Snape down the stairs, half wondering where he was going to end up, and half wondering if this ‘Jean’ person were Snape’s boyfriend, but the idea of Snape having a boyfriend seemed wrong on too many levels for Harry to seriously entertain the idea for long so he concentrated on his footing and on keeping control of his levitated trunks.

After two dozen steps, Harry found himself in a small anteroom facing a tall oaken door. He politely shifted himself to one side as Snape leaned forward and said, “’Cocteau’.”

The wizardlock clicked open and Snape repeated, “’Jean, Cocteau.’ Got it?”

Harry nodded. He still had no idea what the password meant, but then, he didn’t need to know. He followed Snape through the doorway.

A large entranceway lay beyond, bound on all sides by closed doors. Snape removed the levitation charms from his own trunks; Harry followed suit. Immediately, a pair of house elves appeared. They bowed, greeted Snape respectfully, then turned toward Harry. Snape made introductions and instructed one of them, ‘Moxie’, to take two trunks to the laboratory, and ‘Pepsi’ to show Harry to his room. Then Snape stalked through the left-hand doors and Pepsi led Harry through the right.

“This way, Master Harry,” the elf squeaked, and Harry followed.

**

It was the most bizarre thing. He had expected a cot somewhere in a tiny closet of a room. Then, when he’d seen the cottage, he’d feared sleeping on the brick hearth like some ‘Cinder-fella.’ What he got was entirely beyond imagining. His own room. His own suite of rooms. A plush green and maroon parlor complete with fireplace. A marbled bathroom to rival any at Hogwarts. And a bedroom… he’d never dreamed of a bedroom like this. An absolutely huge – and hugely comfortable – bed. Two mahogany wardrobes. A long chest of drawers. Three mirrors, one full-length. Ivory silk sheets, down comforters and a week’s worth of robes, pajamas and casual wear in his size and a range of colors.

Was this supposed to humble him? Bewildered, Harry allowed Pepsi to unpack his belongings and lead him to the dining room for supper.

There was only one place set in the elegantly appointed room and it was not Snape’s. Indeed, the former professor sat at one end of a twelve-foot table while Pepsi led Harry to the opposite. Moxie appeared with a bowl of soup.

“Go on,” Snape said with a curling lip. “Don’t stand on ceremony. Eat.”

Harry shrugged and began slurping up the delicious broth.

“There are some ground rules,” Snape said after a moment. “And these you may not consider breaking. I may not be able to take house points from you or assign you detentions, but neither do I have to deal with your sycophantic, well-meaning protectors. This means I can do with you what I like and if I decide you would do better to sleep on the floor upstairs in the cottage without benefit of blanket or cushioning charm, then that’s what will happen. There will be no one – not even the Minister for Magic himself – who would gainsay me. To interfere with this contract would be to dishonor you and your parents. You may have noticed Dumbledore did not encourage you to break it?”

Harry nodded. The soup was gone. Moxie appeared next with a salad.

“So you shall, for once in your life, do as you are told. As long as you do so, you will continue to be allowed to use the rooms you were given, and be fed and so on. In return, you are to be my unquestioning assistant in the laboratory from eight in the morning until six at night. There may be a brief opportunity for lunch, but I prefer you eat a hearty breakfast. I despise interruptions when I’m performing research. After dinner, you are free to roam about the complex. Moxie or Pepsi would be happy to direct you to the library or the games room. From time to time you will be sent into the gardens or forest above, but you are strictly cautioned to never venture above ground after sunset. Is that understood?”

Harry nodded, his eyes huge with questions. “Are you… a werewolf or vampire or something?”

Snape stared back at him. “Absolutely not, Potter. And that’s the last question I’ll entertain on the subject. Do not harass the house-elves. They are more important to me than you are, and I will not hesitate to punish you for their sake.” He paused a moment before adding, “I’d suggest you make an attempt to eat the salad. If you don’t, it will displease Moxie greatly, and I’d hate to have to prove my words to you on your first night here.”

Harry ate his salad. He ate the rolls, the roast beef and the asparagus, and then he ate the chocolate cake and drank the coffee. Snape smirked when Harry nearly gagged at the bitter taste and said, “If you don’t like coffee, you have only to say so.”

Snape himself never ate a single bite. 

As Harry slipped between the sheets that night, his stomach full from the delicious meal, he decided not to tell Snape how the Dursleys’ would have disputed this definition of ‘miserable servitude.’

**

“I need those shrivelfigs sliced finely,” Snape said that first morning.

Harry nodded. He could do this. Then he saw the barrel of shrivelfigs. “Making something in particular?” he asked.

“Just slice them,” Snape growled. “There’s a selection of knives in the drawer to your left.”

Snape seemed to be concentrating on some vials of black sludge arrayed on the long worktable in front of him, so Harry pulled open the knife drawer, selected a likely-looking blade, and set to work.

An hour passed with no words between them. Harry kept skinning and slicing and collecting paper-thin shreds in a large glass bowl. He’d gone through half the barrel when he got up the courage to ask, “How much do you need?”

“All of it,” Snape replied.

Harry sliced. Snape fiddled with his collection of vials and jars, eventually starting a cauldron and pouring a few of the more noxious elements into it, stirring thoughtfully and sucking on his lower lip.

Harry had never noticed before that Snape sucked on his lower lip while concentrating. He quickly hid his grin. The idea that Snape, of all people, should have a nervous habit! The man was human after all! Harry wanted to laugh, to share his insight with his friends. He could write them, of course, except that Hedwig had been killed during an attempt to assassinate Harry during his sixth year. The loss of the owl was difficult to bear, but now how was he to get mail delivered? His prior intention was to purchase a new owl upon leaving school. He had no idea how to keep in touch with his friends without one. Unless Snape had an owl he could borrow?

He asked as politely as he could, but Snape, it turned out, didn’t keep them. “Too much work for too little reward,” he said. “The journal publishers have their own delivery flock, of course, and I can always use the owl of anyone who would write me to return post. If I have to speak to someone, I use the Floo or walk down to the village and use the Muggle post.”

Harry frowned. “How can you use the post to send an owl?”

Snape sighed. “What you don’t know about the wizarding world..! If you address your letter to a certain box in London, it will arrive at a wizard post station and be transferred to an owl. It takes a day or two longer, but there you are.”

“There’s a village? Where?”

“About three miles away,” Snape said, “there’s a highway. Follow that for another mile or so and you’ll find it. I don’t often go there. There isn’t much to see or do.”

“Why don’t you just Apparate?” Since getting his license, Harry had been looking forward to legally Apparating all over England.

“There are wards around the property,” Snape said. “And there are generally acknowledged restrictions about Apparating where Muggles might see you. The highway is fairly well traveled, for all that the village is not. Besides, the exercise is beneficial.”

This was more non-potions, non-Order related information than Harry had ever gotten out of Snape before. And not one insult or snarky response! Still skinning and slicing, Harry asked as casually as he could, “So, you grew up here, then?”

“Upstairs.”

Up-? Oh. The cottage. “Then… where’d all this come from?”

“I am a wizard, Harry,” Snape said patiently. “Where do you think this came from?”

Harry let the matter drop for the moment. “So what are we making all this for?” he asked.

“’We’ are not making this,” Snape corrected him. “’I’ am. And I’m making it to sell.” He paused, measuring a few sprinkles of crushed mealworm to his cauldron. “I have entered into a contract to supply a line of specialty potions to a few select merchants in Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade.”

“So… you’re not independently wealthy?” Harry asked as casually as possible, not looking up from his denuded shrivelfigs.

Snape snorted. “Not in the slightest. Where did you get that idea?”

He lifted a shoulder in a shrug. “I don’t know. The other students, I guess.”

Snape shook his head. “What passes for intelligence at that school… No, Mr. Potter, I am not wealthy. If I were a wealthy man, I would not have needed Dumbledore’s patronage to keep me out of Azkaban, nor would I have needed him to provide employment.”

Harry felt rather silly for asking. He should have known, should have realized, that Snape didn’t have money of his own or some huge estate somewhere else. The man wore the same wardrobe every year! And what made him think teachers made a lot of money, anyway? Weren’t there always news stories about how poorly Muggle teachers were paid? Why should that be so very different in the wizard world?

He was about to ask why Snape hadn’t just started his line of specialty potions before now, when a different way to ask the question presented itself. “Didn’t you enjoy teaching?”

Snape stopped what he was doing – stopped cold. He stared at Harry, his dark eyes boring holes into Harry’s head. “Are you truly that idiotic? Do you think anyone truly enjoys teaching? Flitwick excluded. He would enjoy compiling a reference library on cauldron-bottom thickness. No, Mr. Potter. I do so hate to shatter your precious illusions, but none of your teachers were all that dedicated to the profession.”

“Not even McGonagall?”

“Hardly,” Snape said with a sour laugh. “Her husband died, leaving her penniless. Hagrid and Trelawney have nowhere else to go. Vector loved unwisely and her family cast her out. Once injury permanently sidelined Hooch, she had no real option save to become a coach. No, some of us may have considered teaching to be a glamorous, glorifying, even rewarding career once upon a time, but none of us consider it such now.”

“You’re being awfully chatty,” Harry said casually.

It was Snape’s turn to shrug. “I have no reason not to be. What are you going to do? Sit up all night with the house elves and tell stories? They already know all about me.”

“How’d you come by them, if it’s all right to ask?”

Snape hesitated, but whether he was afraid to answer or he truly needed to study the reaction in his cauldron, Harry couldn’t tell. Finally, he said, “Pepsi was injured in an attack on Hogsmeade during the Dark Lord’s first incarnation. I brought her back to Hogwarts where I treated her as best as I could. In gratitude, she petitioned Dumbledore to allow her and Moxie to work exclusively for me. He agreed. That’s your story.”

“Why Moxie, too?”

“They’re bonded mates,” Snape replied as if it, too, should have been supremely obvious.

“House elves marry?”

“Where do you think little house elves come from? Now keep your mind on your work. There’s at least a dozen more barrels to be shredded once you’re done there.”

Harry groaned and continued slicing.

**

The first week, all Harry did was slice shrivelfigs, eat and sleep. He was allowed to spend his first Saturday exploring the warren, as he’d termed it in his head. He found a large kitchen, a small music room, a study of sorts and a library that was really just one long corridor that twisted and twined around what Harry figured was the outside edge of the other rooms. Snape’s wing, naturally, went unexplored.

Harry spent what free time he had reading in the library, but after another week of preparing huge quantities of potions ingredients, he started feeling more like a mole and less like a human being.

“Sir, is it, I mean, may I, go outside for a bit today?” he asked after breakfast one morning. “You did say I would get a chance.”

Their relationship had yet to devolve into anything approaching Harry’s first fears. He’d fully expected to be berated daily for perceived errors and infractions, to be run ragged with meaningless chores or impossible tasks, to be tormented constantly by derogatory comments about his father and his father’s friends, but nothing of the sort had occurred. Instead, Snape was, if not friendly, communicative and patient.

True, there was the time Harry had broken a flask of butterfly tea. He’d expected to be taken to task for his admitted clumsiness, and he was. But Snape hadn’t punished him for it. He hadn’t even mentioned it again once Harry’d cleaned up the mess.

What was even more astonishing to Harry was that – just one time – Snape had laughed at one of Harry’s off-the-cuff remarks. Truth be told, it was more of a soft chuckle, but Harry counted it as a win all the same.

But that was three days ago and Harry was uncertain what Snape’s mood that day might be.

The older man seemed thoughtful. He nodded. “Yes, all right. It has been a while since you’ve been above. Take a walk, but don’t forget your wand! You may need it to find your way back home. The trees are charmed to guard the cottage. They’ll hide the paths if they do not sense you belong here. And make yourself useful as you explore. Moxie will give you a basket. There are several berry vines and bushes.”

Harry nodded, thrilled to be given permission so easily. “Will we be making toothpaste, then?” He was pleased he remembered that berries were used in wizarding dentifrices.

Snape’s eyebrows met in a confused knit. “No, Mr. Potter. If you’ve run low, Pepsi will restock your bathroom.”

“Then… why the berries?”

“Moxie likes trifle.”

Of course.

**

The weeks passed much as the weeks before. Every Saturday morning, Harry took a walk through the surrounding woods and every Sunday, he allowed himself to sleep in. He progressed from skinning shrivelfigs to preparing cauldrons to brewing potions bases and mixing powders. Snape had dozens of orders to fill and the pair were constantly busy. Harry had wondered how Snape intended to deliver his potions, if he did not have an owl of his own. That mystery was solved the first Friday afternoon when an apothecary sent two owls and a cushioned box. Snape instructed Harry to watch carefully as he put the fragile vials into the box, added his own protection charms and a signature ward, sealed the box, and sent the owls on their way from the cottage upstairs. Orders arrived via owl each Monday morning; the lists grew longer every week.

Harry longed to know more about the outside world, but even the Daily Prophet was denied him; Snape did not subscribe. The potions journals he did receive covered few current events. As the cottage was an island in the woods, so Harry was an island in the world.

To ease his loneliness, Harry took to masturbating every night. It helped, somewhat. The moments before climax were mindless, but instead of finding blissful sleep with sticky fingers and a softening penis, each session took him longer to achieve release – and that release was increasingly short-lived.

At first, he simply stroked himself to hardness, pulled a few times, gasped and came, and then fell asleep. After the tenth or twelfth time, however, his brain had to supply his libido with erotic images, at first shadowy, then concrete. Girls were quickly replaced with boys; boys replaced with men; men with man. One man. Snape.

The first time Harry imagined Snape watching him wank, his climax failed to satisfy him immediately. Instead, he discovered that a second go-round and a more detailed visual, a nude Snape, salivating, the bodily details blurry yet suggestive, prompted him toward an ever-more explosive orgasm that lifted his hips off the bed and caused him to gasp. He collapsed, praying that neither elf would come inquiring after him, enjoying the pleasurable susurrations of feeling as they left his body.

But as those weeks turned into months and his loneliness increased, Harry had to resort to imagining Snape’s mouth on his, his tongue on his stomach, his fingers inside his body, to achieve the same effect. Even more disturbing, the frequent masturbation increasingly failed to satisfy him and, once or twice, he gave up on it, preferring to turn into the blankets and simply will himself to dreams.

The dreams were not found easily.

One morning, Harry wandered in from the breakfast room to find Snape already hard at work. “Another youth potion?” he asked, recognizing the reek permeating the room.

“Yes,” Snape murmured. “What some will do to remain young.”

Harry moved to the sink and began to wash his hands. “Doesn’t everyone fear getting old? I know Muggles do. They’ve got all sorts of potions and medical treatments to combat it. You’d be surprised.”

“No, I wouldn’t,” Snape countered. “It’s a constant in life. The older one gets, the more one regrets wasting the past.”

Drying his hands, Harry turned with a frown. “Do you really think so? That’s kind of… dour, isn’t it?”

“The truth often is.”

“Dumbledore doesn’t seem to regret the past. At least, he certainly isn’t trying to make people think he’s a teenager again.”

“No,” Snape said with a slanting grin. “But then, he’s never followed the rules, has he.”

“A true Gryffindor, eh, sir?”

Snape’s response was a simple, world-weary shake of his head. “Haven’t you realized it yet, Potter? Dumbledore would have been a Slytherin. He chose to be in Gryffindor. The Sorting Hat was fooled.” He fixed Harry with a piercing look. “It’s been known to happen.”

“Right,” Harry said with a guilty grimace. “I’ll just get started on the bubotubers, then?”

“Very well.”

**

That Friday, a storm crossing England from the North Sea kept any owls from arriving at the cottage until just before six. Harry had been waiting anxiously for sight of the birds; the howling wind and constant rain had him worried for their safety. He was happy to lead the birds down through the warren to the storeroom.

“They made it, Snape!”

Snape had been compiling a requisition form, so he was still in the stockroom when Harry shouted. He called back an affirmative, then ordered Harry to proceed with filling the supplies. “They’ll need to take this supply request as well,” he added.

“Got it,” Harry said. His stomach was rumbling, eager for dinner, by the time he finished filling up the boxes with the potions-filled pots, vials and bottles. Thirty minutes later, he had finished applying Snape’s personal signature to the sealed box lid.

“You two ready to go back?” he asked the owl pair. They had spent the time cleaning their feathers and picking at some treats Harry had provided. They fixed him with affirmative looks, and Harry lifted the box handles for them to grab.

Suddenly, long-fingered hands closed on his, causing Harry to startle. “I’ll take that upstairs, Potter.” Snape had somehow managed to move silently from the stockroom to just behind Harry. His hands were surprisingly cool on Harry’s and, as Harry jerked back with a nervous smile, he realized something astonishing.

That was the first time in all the long months that they had touched.

Snape produced his requisition, sealed it, tucked it into a mail tube and attached the tube to one owl’s leg, all without looking once in Harry’s direction. Snape lifted the box and nodded toward the door. “Get that, will you?” he asked. “And get yourself to supper. I won’t be joining you this evening.”

Feeling somewhat saddened by that, Harry nevertheless opened the door, allowing Snape and the owls to proceed through. Harry made his way to supper, dove into his mutton stew, sipped his springwater, and wondered how he could feel so lonely. After all, he always ate alone. Snape only ever watched him.

Fiddling with the last chunk of mutton, Harry wondered again when Snape ate. He knew the man was human, he’d seen him bleed after a foolish accident with a paring knife. He believed the man when he said he wasn’t a werewolf or a vampire. Anyway, he never showed any of the signs Lupin had displayed after the full moon, and that bloody thumb? Snape only washed it off before applying a healing charm. He didn’t even suck it first, as Harry supposed was human nature.

So what was he? He must eat, Harry decided. He had eaten at Hogwarts’ meals, hadn’t he? Harry tried to remember. Yes, Snape always had a plate in front of him, and he thought he remembered seeing Snape lift a fork to his mouth, sip at his goblet, dap his lips with his linen handkerchief. Hadn’t he?

But he never ate at Grimmauld Place. And he never ate here, either.

Facing a weekend with nothing else to do, Harry took his own plate into the kitchens and handed it to Moxie. “I have a question,” he said instead of leaving for the library as was usual.

Moxie’s ears quivered. “Yes? How may I be serving you?”

“When does Snape eat?”

He thought it was an innocent question. He was apparently wrong. Moxie’s eyes filled with tears, her lips trembled and then issued forth a howl. Pepsi immediately appeared, took his mate into his arms and comforted her, turning vaguely accusing eyes in Harry’s direction.

“What causes this?” Pepsi demanded.

“I just wanted to know when Snape eats,” he explained. “I’m worried about him. He seems a bit raggedy.”

“Master’s habits are not for discussion!” Pepsi retorted. “You go now! Leave us!”

Bereft of choice, Harry did.

While crossing the hallway to his bedroom, Harry noticed that the door leading to the upstairs stood partly open. A cool, wet draft blew through the main hall. Frowning again, hardly believing Snape could be so forgetful, Harry went to the open door. He peered up the dark staircase and called out, “Snape? You up there?”

No answer.

Not wanting to lock the door (as was the rule at night) if Snape were still outside, Harry pulled his wand, lit it, and ascended the stairs. At the trapdoor, he hesitated. Summoning a bit of courage and telling himself it was perfectly all right to worry about Snape’s safety (that storm was still raging), Harry pushed up the trapdoor and peered at the cottage.

From his vantage point, he could see nothing amiss. Then he heard a loud crr-ack! from outside. Without another thought, Harry sprang through the trapdoor and raced to the window. He peered through the windy gloom, trying to make sense of the visual chaos of the storm outside. A moment later, he saw it. An oak tree had been struck by lightening and even now lay across the front lawn, smoking slightly. Harry’s eyes widened. A few meters closer and the tree would have crushed the cottage.

He felt his surge of adrenaline begin to ebb and his pulse slow. Then he saw something moving, struggling beneath the tree, something large and dark…

… Snape?

It had to be. He had gone onto the lawn to give the owls a free space to fly away, the lightening had struck and the tree had fallen on him. He needed help! He was probably injured, perhaps bones were broken. Maybe he was bleeding-!

Harry threw open the cottage door, allowing the wind to slam it shut. His wand aloft, illuminated, Harry raced across the lawn to the struggling creature. “Snape!” he shouted. “Snape! Are you alright?”

It was a silly question – obviously the man was injured – but it was an automatic question all the same. Nearing the struggling, wet mass of flesh, he smelled blood. He smelled pain. And he recognized the victim. A deer.

Harry breathed easier. Only a deer. Not Snape. Smiling a bit in relief, Harry felt himself start to shake as his second adrenaline surge ebbed, this time a bit slower. He felt slightly sick and rubbed his stomach. Rain had soaked his robes and he had sloshed through a muddy puddle, ruining his shoes, but it was not Snape and that was all that mattered.

He was about to put the deer out of its misery, and was wondering if the elves should be informed so they could bury it later, when he heard, not too far off, a menacing growl.

Harry froze. He tried to identify it. Was it a werewolf? No. Some other canine? No. A bear? He didn’t think so. Banshee? Goblin? No and no again.

Holding tighter to his wand, readying several spells, he turned in the direction of the growl. Wind, rain and increasing darkness combined to blur the world in front of him. His water-stained glasses served only to disguise whatever was in front of him.

“Who’s there?” he called out. “Snape?”

But why would it be Snape? Why would he make a growl like that? No, it was some creature, some fell beast. And it was getting closer.

Harry shivered, but from cold or fear, he didn’t know. “Stupefy!” he shouted, aiming the spell in a likely direction. The light from the magic illuminated the yard, but not as much as the crack of lightning in the sky.

He saw it.

A tall, lumbering, dark creature, shuffling toward him, head hanging low, arms and hands curling into claws – 

Arms?

Hands?

Billowing in the wind – fur? Wings?

No. A cloak.

A person. Who – Snape?

Harry stepped back. He swiped a hand across his glasses, smearing them. His heart thudded in his chest. His instincts screamed at him – RUN!

His trainers slipped in mud before finding purchase on the sodden ground. Harry bolted for the cottage. He grabbed at the door and pulled it closed behind him. “Snape!” he shouted. “Snaaaaaaape! Where are you?”

He darted into the other rooms, but there was no sign of the other man. He heard more growling and an animalistic scream of pain. Harry returned to the window.

The dark creature knelt at the side of the struggling deer. In another flash of light, Harry saw the creature tearing into the animal’s flesh, pulling huge chunks of flesh, the liver, the heart, the stomach, up and out of the animal’s body. Bloody bones flew up into the air as the creature bent its head, tearing the flesh out with his teeth.

Harry barely made it to the bathroom in time to lose his supper. The creature?

Snape.


	3. Le Beau

Harry spent the night locked in his bedroom, jumping at unexpected noises and falling asleep fully clothed. After a quick shower, he re-dressed and went into the dining room, swallowing his nerves, his expression a nonchalant façade.

Snape was not there.

Harry ate undisturbed. If the elves took more or less notice of his behavior or their master’s absence, he couldn’t tell. He dallied over his tea as long as he dared; it was past eight when he entered the laboratory.

His usual greeting died on his lips. Snape was waiting for him, leaning against the main table, arms folded tight across his chest, scowling fiercely.

“What’s the matter, Potter,” he snarled. “Scared?”

“N-no, sir,” Harry said, feeling fearful indeed.

“Perhaps you’d care to explain yourself. No? Good. Considering your recent behavior, your privileges are hereby revoked. You will remove yourself to the cottage upstairs where you’ll take your meals. You’re denied use of any part of the compound, including the library, save for this room alone. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

Snape turned to issue orders for the day, but Harry interrupted. “But if I’m not permitted to explain myself, I would like you to.”

“I beg your pardon?” Snape repeated. “Explain myself? To you? Why should I?”

“Because-“

“You invaded my privacy. Disobeyed the rules. Spied upon me, and don’t think I don’t see the irony! Are you pleased, Potter? Do you feel justified in your assessment of me? I knew this would happen. And now you’re disgusted, scared. Aren’t you!”

Harry had been studying Snape long before this particular morning. He searched his heart and found that he was able to reply honestly. “No, sir. I mean, I admit I was startled last night, shocked, even, but it’s morning now and no. I’m not actually disgusted or scared. I’m… curious, mostly.”

The older man stared at him. “Curious?”

“Yes, sir. Are you… under a curse?”

Snape stared at him a long time. He made as if to speak once or twice, but always broke off his words after the first syllable. Harry waited patiently, utilizing a trick Hermione once told him she used when trying to get Ron to discuss his feelings. ‘Be patient and don’t speak,’ she told him, ‘because if you do, it’ll distract him and he’ll have to start all over again. Keep a neutral expression and don’t cross your arms! That puts up barriers and you want to appear “open”.’

It worked for Hermione and Ron. It worked for Snape and Harry.

“A curse, yes,” Snape finally admitted. “But that’s all I’m going to say about it.” He half-smiled, half-flinched, as if hearing himself speak was a shock.

“And last night?” Harry ventured softly. “That was…?”

“That was me, yes.”

“Part of the curse?”

“Yes.”

“And that’s why you’ve never sat at table with me for dinner?”

Snape glanced away, his shoulder lifting in a shrug.

Harry sighed. “Why didn’t you explain? There’s no reason to hide. I could’ve helped you.”

“You can’t,” Snape said with surprising vehemence. “Albus told me to tell you, but… I thought I would eventually. After a time. After I… grew accustomed to the idea.”

Harry thought he knew what Albus’s advice had been. “After we became friends?”

He nodded with obvious reluctance.

With a small smile, Harry said, “Is that why you’ve been so talkative?”

Another shrug. Snape still wasn’t looking at him. “Albus’s idea. It had some merit. After all, we’re supposed to be living together for the next twenty-five years. I don’t get visitors and have no remaining family. With whom would I converse, if not you? Twenty-five years of ‘slice this’ and ‘shred that’ loomed rather… bleak.”

“It was a good idea,” Harry said softly, still keeping a close watch on Snape’s expression. He thought he saw a flicker of hesitant gratitude. “I have been feeling more like a friend than a servant. I apologize for spying on you, but it was inadvertent. I was worried about you. The door was unlocked and with the storm… I thought that deer was you. That’s why I ran outside.”

Snape looked up at him at that. “You thought -?”

Harry nodded. “I was worried, like I said. If you were injured, I wanted to help you.”

“But if I died,” Snape said carefully, “your servitude would end. You would be free.”

“I hadn’t thought of it like that,” Harry said honestly. “Doesn’t matter. This hasn’t been so terrible. We’re friends now. Of a sort.” He smiled.

“Maybe.”

“And friends don’t judge each other for unavoidable things like curses. And they worry when they think their friends are hurt. And they try to help.” He paused, mischief compelling him to say, “And they don’t make their friends sleep in a drafty cottage all by themselves when there’s a nice comfy bed going to waste.”

Snape almost laughed at that. He waved a hand dismissively. “All right,” he said. “You don’t have to sleep upstairs. You, erm, like the room?”

Harry nodded his head vigorously. “Yes, sir! It’s a wonderful room – much better than I expected.”

“Good, good.”

“I should have said something before now.”

“That’s all right.”

“I still should have.”

“Fine.”

“So, we’re friends, then?”

After a long pause, Snape nodded his head. “Friends. Certainly. All right.”

“Then you’ll start calling me ‘Harry’ and I’ll start calling you ‘Severus’?”

Snape looked as if he were suddenly extremely nauseous, but he nodded his head and said, “Yes. Fine. Harry.”

Laughing, he replied, “Thanks, Severus. I’ll get started on those snapping dragons.” He reached up and took his lab cloak from the hook by the door and slipped it on. Snape seemed grateful for the professionalism and they got to work. Things were a little easier between them now and if Harry were curious about Snape’s curse, and if he used his times in the evenings researching the library, and if the image of feral-Snape prowling the woods above at night kept intruding on his thoughts both friendly and (worrisomely) sexual, Harry never let it poison the friendship he’d found.

**

Several weeks passed without incident. When Snape left the dining room table each evening, presumably to seek his supper al fresco, Harry tried his best never to make the older man uncomfortable. His casual acceptance of Snape’s situation seemed to make their relationship even better. Weekend afternoons, Snape began joining Harry on his jaunts through the forest. He pointed out certain vines, bushes, plants to avoid or to watch for signs of growth. He even took Harry to the village one Saturday, where they had lunch in a small pub and shopped for necessities and dry goods.

Then one day in November, an invitation came. Ron had finally proposed to Hermione. The wedding was in December and would Harry be Ron’s best man?

A sense of eager excitement infused Harry as he ran to Snape in the laboratory. He shoved the invitation in front of Snape’s nose and asked, “Can I go? Please?”

Snape took the parchment and read it carefully. “It’s in five weeks,” he said. “And they want you there for five days.”

“That’s right,” Harry said. “Ron wants a stag party, and apparently I’m supposed to prepare him for the ceremony and do a spell or something. He says it’s simple.”

“It is,” Snape agreed. “I’ve been to weddings. I’m sure this one will be quite… lovely.”

Harry grinned. “So I can go?”

Snape thought a long moment. “I suppose so,” he said, and Harry began to whoop. “However! You may not be gone longer than three days. I am sorry, but you will have to come back directly after the reception. You won’t be needed there afterward, anyway.”

“Three days?” Harry grinned. “That’s fine! I can’t wait to see them both, and the Weasleys, too, of course. I wonder what I should wear? And a gift! I’ll need to get something.”

“May I suggest,” Snape said with infinite patience, “a potion? You have become remarkably adept at following instructions. With my guidance, you could presumably concoct something suitable for the ‘happy’ couple.”

“That sounds great!” Harry enthused. “Which one, though?”

“I have a book in the library,” Snape said. “That may provide some suggestions. Fetch it here and we’ll peruse it while I start the base for this wart remover.”

Between the two of them, Harry decided on a simple but potent mood-enhancement potion. Non-addictive, it would enhance a couple’s sexual activities. Hermione could be trusted to use the potion properly, not more than once a week. With the amount Harry was providing, they could be expected to have six months use of it.

By the time it was prepared, and Moxie and Pepsi had assembled an appropriate set of clothes for the occasion, Harry was ready to leave. On his last night before Portkeying to The Burrow, Snape reminded Harry about needing to return within three days.

“That is, in seventy-two hours, Harry. Before dawn on Monday.”

“I understand.” But he was so excited about seeing his old friends once more, he didn’t ask or question the time limit.

Harry’s Portkey was timed to deliver him to The Burrow at Friday dawn, so he didn’t see Snape before he left. The odd sense of disappointment at not saying yet another good-bye to the man faded as he was immediately swallowed up into the warmth and excitement of the Weasley family.

Harry rented a private room in the Leaky Cauldron for Ron’s stag party. A veela performed, several kegs of beer were drunk, and everyone had a wonderful time. The night before the wedding, Harry began preparing Ron. There was the ritual bath to cleanse his body and soul, protective spells to guard his heart against second thoughts, and charms to encourage Ron to be open to Hermione’s heart and his own feelings towards her. Dawn found the two exhausted. They slept until noon in Ron’s old room, then had lunch and got dressed for the wedding.

They had the Muggle-style ceremony (for the benefit of Hermione’s parents and the Muggle Ministry) in the back yard. The twins paid for the charmed tent. A ten piece orchestra played, a soloist sang, and the relatives and friends of the happy couple, magical and Muggle alike, joined in the spontaneous applause when Ron and Hermione were pronounced ‘husband and wife.’ The assembled followed them outside while the tent was magically altered to remove the pews and replace them with round tables and chairs and room for dancing.

Harry had never had a better time. Seeing his two best friends so obviously happy made him happy. He even managed to dance with several women present, Molly and Ginny included, and eat more than his fair share of cake. Still, the sense that he was missing something stuck at him. He felt, even in the midst of all the family and friendship, that it would have been better if Snape were there.

The private wizarding ceremony, as was traditional, commenced at midnight, after most of the guests had gone home. Nervous excitement prevented Harry from yawning during the lengthy spell-casting and goddess invocations. Hermione, clad only in a thin, white sheath and Ron, similarly garbed, recited incantations while Dumbledore as Officiate and Harry as Binder did their parts in combining and sealing the couple’s magic.

Exhausted from the unusual hours and the expression of power, Harry fell into deep slumber almost immediately upon reentering his room at The Burrow. He did not awake until Monday.

“What time is it?” he asked Molly as he entered the kitchen. He rubbed his eyes, yawned and stretched, still in his wedding robe.

“It’s past four now,” she replied. “Would you like something to eat? Let me make you a sandwich. Or would you like some wedding leftovers? Dinner’s not until sevenish or so, when Arthur’s due home, so you won’t ruin your appetite. Have a seat, Harry. I’ll get you something to drink.”

“Four?”

“Yes, dear,” she said, putting a jug of milk and a glass on the table in front of him. She summoned platters of meat and cheese from the coldbox and proceeded to make him a sandwich. “You were exhausted,” she said. “As could only be expected.”

“Where’s Ron and Hermione?”

“They’ve gone on their honeymoon,” she said. “Bill bought them a Nile cruise. They left this morning.”

Harry blinked. “They were awake?”

“Of course, dear. Oh, you don’t know.” She clucked at him sympathetically. “During the ceremony, you gave them energy when you Bound them. Don’t worry,” she said, seeing his dismay, “you’ll recover it by tomorrow. What you lost, they received. They won’t be able to sleep until Wednesday. I remember my own wedding. Bill came so quickly afterward.” She shot him a Look. “Fully nine and a half months later, of course.”

He smiled groggily at her, ate his sandwich and returned to bed.

It was as she had said. Tuesday morning, he was back to his regular strength. His mind had been fogged by the unexpected outpour of energy, but that morning, he remembered. “Molly! I need to go back,” he said while racing down the stairs. He glanced at the magical clock. It was almost nine; the faces all pointed to ‘at work’, except for Ron and Hermione, which read ‘on holiday.’

“Now, dear,” Molly replied sternly. “You need to eat breakfast. You may have gotten your magical strength back, but it’s no good to you if you don’t have your physical strength.” 

“No time – I promised I’d return yesterday at dawn! Bugger it,” he said, uncaring of Molly’s disapproving look. “I should have returned after the ceremony Sunday night. Why didn’t I? I could have slept this all off there and then I wouldn’t be in this fix.”

“What fix, dear? Surely he can do without you for another day.” She ushered him to sit at the table.

“I’m sure he can, too, but I promised. He’s probably worried about me.”

“Then owl him,” she replied. “Use Cupcake.” She gestured toward the young barn owl perched on her stoop. Cupcake looked hopefully at Harry.

“I… guess I could do that,” Harry said. “If only to explain. But I must get back.”

“Owl Severus and see what he says. Maybe he’ll let you stay another night. We haven’t had a chance to chat, what with all the excitement. Let’s have a nice visit.”

“I’ll owl Severus.”

Snape sent no reply, but by the time Harry’s worry returned, he was hip-deep helping Molly with dinner. 

“He didn’t Owl me back,” he said.

Arthur looked up from his newspaper. “Who?”

Molly bustled to the table, a stack of plates following her obediently. “He Owled Professor Snape. It’s nothing.”

“I was supposed to be back there yesterday morning,” Harry said, sinking into a chair. “But I didn’t go.” He frowned, shaking his head. “Why didn’t I? Why haven’t I left?”

“Relax, dear,” Molly told him with a pat on his shoulder. “You can go in the morning. I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

“In the morning,” Harry said, his face clearing. “That’s what I originally thought.” He smiled. “I’m really glad to be here. I’ve missed this place.”

Molly smiled as she summoned the salad. Arthur, however, put down his paper and regarded Harry with concern. “Molly,” he said slowly, never taking his eyes off their young houseguest. “What did you do?”

“Nothing, dear,” she replied. “Don’t you worry.”

“Did you do something?” Harry asked. He felt strange. Part of him desperately needed to go back to the cottage, while most of him was content to return in the morning. But he had promised! And he was well over a day and a half late.

“Honestly, Arthur,” Molly said, pulling out a chair and sitting down. “It’s nothing but a harmless hostess spell.” She looked askance at Harry. “It’s not really polite to discuss such things in front of one’s guests, Arthur. Carve the chicken.” She gestured at the roasted hen.

But Arthur did not pick up the carving tools. “It’s not harmless if Harry needed to return home sooner.”

“Will you tell me what the spell is and what it does?” Harry had never heard of hostess spells and couldn’t fathom their usage.

Molly sighed. “It’s a spell cast on one’s houseguests. To make them feel more comfortable about spending time in your home. So there’s no feeling of imposition. And so they’ll leave when the hostess is ready for them to without any sense they’re being evicted. It ensures everyone has an enjoyable time. It’s harmless.”

“You mean… I’m not at home like I promised because you cast a spell to make me too comfortable here to leave?”

“Something like that,” Molly said. She smiled, a touch uncertainly, and poured water into a glass tumbler.

Harry had no time any more to waste. He stood and hurried to the stairs. He needed to collect his things and go… even though… dinner had been served. He was hungry. It would be rude to rush off…He looked longingly back at the dinner table. The chicken smelled so good…

“Molly!” Arthur thundered. “Remove the spell and let him go!”

“But I miss him,” she protested. “The boys are gone and Ginny’s –“

Harry’s heart filled with a renewed desire to remain, but Arthur held firm. “He made a promise. Let him keep it!”

“Fine,” Molly said sadly. She took out her wand, pointed it at Harry, murmured a few words and –

“I’ve got to go!” Harry shouted. He pelted up the stairs to his room, hastily repacked his things, darted back downstairs, threw kisses toward Arthur and Molly and dashed outside. He Apparated immediately to the cottage.

“Severus!” he shouted, racing through the cottage door. “I’m home! I’m back! Severus – where are you?”

The cottage was devoid of life. He went to the trapdoor. “Jean!” he called. The trapdoor opened. He hurried down the steps, his luggage following him obediently. “Cocteau!” he shouted. The warren door opened. He removed the spell on his luggage.

Harry ran first to the lab. No Snape. The kitchen? No Snape – and no house elves. Dining room? Games room? Library? Last resort was his own bedroom, where he found the elves.

“Moxie! Pepsi! What’s going on? Where’s Severus?”

The elves huddled on the carpet in the center of the room. They stared up at Harry, their ears flapping and their eyes pooling tears. “Where has you been? You was promised to return!”

“I’m sorry,” Harry said, sinking to his knees in front of them. “I was… delayed. Hostess spell. Where’s Severus?”

The elves sniffled loudly, but seemed to accept his explanation. “Master is not here,” Moxie said. “He is outside.”

“He not coming back,” Pepsi squeaked. “Not ever!”

“What? Why not? What happened?”

“You did not return!” Moxie squeaked, bravely stabbing a finger at Harry’s chest. “You did not return and now Master will not return! We is alone now because of you!”

Guilt threatened to consume him, but Harry focused on getting answers. He could castigate himself later. “Where did Master go?”

“Outside. We tells you this!”

Harry got to his feet. “Well, then I’m going to have to go looking for him, aren’t I!”

“You must not!” Pepsi shrieked, diving for Harry’s ankles. “It is past dark!”

“It doesn’t matter,” he replied, shaking the elf off his shoe. “I have to find him. I have to explain!” He hurried away.

Outside in the gathering gloom, Harry pulled out his wand and shouted for Snape. Where should he start looking? When he had Apparated home earlier, he hadn’t been concerned with sunset or curses. He’d only thought of finding the man and explaining. What did it mean, Snape was gone? Where? How? He assumed the elves would tell him if Snape were dead. Wouldn’t they?

Right or left? Focus on that, he told himself. Right or left? He held up his wand. “Point me,” he said. “Point me to Severus.” He concentrated as hard as he knew how. The wand twitched once, twice, then turned to the left. With a relieved sigh (for that direction was not north), he hurried off.

The wand led him directly into the woods. Harry followed the path a short distance before the wand stopped twitching. The spell had ended.

“Severus!” Harry called. “Where are you?”

Maybe he was hurt? Maybe he lay somewhere injured? He’d thought so once before and been proven wrong, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t possible now. He took a few steps off the path and called again, cupping his hands around his mouth to focus his shouts.

He was about to cast Sonorous when he heard movement in the low underbrush. Harry held out his wand defensively, readying a Stupefaction spell.

Then he saw movement, close to the ground. A tangled vine shivered. Something had to be there. He crept forward, bent low and slowly pulled the dried brambles to one side. He cast Lumos and peered into a little hollow in the shelter of a tree. Hidden there was Snape.

“There you are,” Harry breathed, overjoyed and deeply concerned. “Are you hurt?”

Snape stared at him through huge, unblinking black eyes set in a furred, beastly face. His back was pressed up against the tree’s large roots, his crooked legs were pulled in tight and his arms were folded against his chest. He had discarded his usual robe and wore only a thin shirt and trousers. Tufts of dark brown fur stuck out from the wrists and around the neck of the stained fabric, and could be seen poking through the button holes as well.

“Severus?” Harry fell to his knees by his side. He held out a shaking hand, gently touched the man’s furred cheek. “Are you okay?” His face was cool. By the light of his wand, he could see a faint bluish cast to his lips and tiny tremors throughout his body.

“You’re freezing out here,” Harry said, his mind blanking on warming charms or anti-frostbite measures. “We’ve got to get you inside where it’s warm.”

Snape shook his head. “N-no… mustn’t… can’t…”

“You’ll get inside and you’ll get fed,” Harry said, imbuing his voice with as much confidence and sincerity as he could. “I’ll hunt for you. Bring it into the cottage. You can’t expect to feed yourself in this condition.” He smiled to hide his sudden tears. “Let me take care of you.”

“Where were you?” Snape managed to ask. His brow knit in confusion. “Are you even really here?”

“I’m here!” Harry pulled at Snape’s arm, tugging it away from his body. Snape whimpered and struggled, but Harry was stronger. “Feel me,” he urged as he brought Snape’s furred, clawed hand to his face. “I’m here. I’m real.”

Snape’s eyes strayed to the sight of his inhuman appendage touching Harry’s soft skin. “No,” he whimpered. “Beast… shouldn’t… can’t… leave me here, please!”

“No! Severus, I’m so sorry I was late, but I’m here now,” Harry babbled. “Molly – she held me there with some kind of hostess spell –“ Snape closed his eyes in recognition, then turned his face away “- and as soon as I could, I got out of there. I came back home! Severus, the elves are frantic. They think you’re never coming back.”

“I’m not,” he replied. “I can’t, now. It’s over.”

“What’s over?” Harry asked, tears spilling onto his cheeks. He held firm to Snape’s hand. “I swear, I didn’t know she would do this. I didn’t know it could be done! But I’m here now and I swear I will never leave you again.”

“No, Harry,” he said. “You don’t understand. It’s the curse…”

“What about it?” Harry blinked through his tears, spattering his glasses.

“It’s bound me to you. Being without you… it hurts – everywhere. I couldn’t… hunt… feed… I’m going to die, Harry.” He smiled. “You’ll be free.”

“No! No, I don’t want to be free,” Harry said, gripping tight to Snape’s clawed hand, keeping it on his face. The tears were coming faster down his cheeks. “I want to stay with you always. I don’t want you to die. If you’re bound to me,” he went on hurriedly, “then since I’m back, you’ll get better, right? You’ll get stronger and-and healthy? Right?”

Snape shook his head. “It’s not… like that. Sweet boy,” he whispered. “Such a sweet boy. How I envy you. You can leave. Make your own life. Live. You must promise me you will.”

“Not without you!” Harry turned his face into Snape’s clawed hand and kissed the furry palm. “I’ll never be happy without you. I love you!” His throat closed up, his eyes shut tight and he began to cry in earnest. “Gods – you can’t die. I won’t let you, I won’t!”

Harry let go of Snape’s clawed hand and fell onto his chest, sobbing. “Please don’t die!”

He felt Snape’s arms envelop him in a loose embrace. Harry lifted his face to Snape’s. Through his tear-stained glasses, his eyes saw the elongated fangs, the protruding, snout-like jaw, the enlarged pupils of a predator, but his heart saw only the face of his beloved. He shifted a bit, then lifted his mouth to press a kiss on Snape’s hairy cheek. “I love you,” he said, “I don’t care if you don’t feel the same –“ another cheek-kiss “- but I love you.” He glanced at the fangs, the snout, then closed his eyes and kissed him full on the lips, his tears streaming forth as he felt Snape go limp.

“No – please!” Harry cried, moving back onto his knees, tears falling freely to splash on the Snape’s face and chest. Harry rubbed Snape’s shoulders and arms and implored him. “Don’t leave me! Please…”

As he rubbed, as his tears fell and his anguished cries dissolved into wordless pleas, the air around them began to tingle. He didn’t notice it at first. Then the tingling settled in Harry’s hands, and spread wherever those hands touched Snape’s body, and seemed to…

Harry gasped. Snape’s body was changing! The burly shoulders melted into the elegant lines he remembered; the arms and even the clawed hands re-transfigured to normal. As Harry ran his hands down the legs and feet, he discovered cloven hooves that developed into slender bare feet.

Snape had become a man.

A fresh burst of tears greeted this realization. At least he’ll die as a man, not as a beast, he told himself.

Then Snape opened his eyes.

And smiled.

“Harry? Is that really you?”

“Severus? What… what’s going on? What’s happened?”

Snape pushed himself upright. “I feel… energized. Reborn. Harry! I can feel!” He laughed and spread his arms wide.

“Wh-what? What’s happened?” But Harry was too relieved Snape hadn’t died not to join in his laughter.

Snape hugged Harry tight before turning so Harry lay back in his arms. “I’m finally able to tell you, but first, I want to kiss you properly.”

Harry’s reply was lost as the other man devoured his mouth with his own. Lips, tongue, moving together and apart, sliding and tasting and gasping for breath but willing to suffocate if it meant feeling like this, they kissed and kissed and kissed again.

Finally, Harry pushed Snape away from him. “Tell me! Before we both freeze to death out here. It’s cold!”

“I’ll tell you everything,” Snape promised. “But in the cottage. It is cold out here.”

“Agreed.”

Once inside the cozy shelter, Snape couldn’t keep his eyes off his young apprentice. Harry offered to get tea as long as Snape started talking, so he began.

“My father was… stern. He tried to force me to control my emotions. Said I’d become a better wizard. My first year at school, however, was a disaster. When Father came to get me at King’s Cross, I was fighting with your father and his friends. I was crying, hurt by their teasing. My father saw me, stopped the fight and proceeded to blister me for my tears. He called me Snivellus, his pet name for me. When we got home, he said he’d ‘fix’ me.

“He had found an ancient French spell that would rob me of my softer emotions. I lost the ability to feel pleasure, to laugh, to love. I became an automaton. But I was a better wizard. Without tender feelings, I freely cursed my enemies. But there were side-effects.”

Harry poured the tea. “The beast?”

“Mm-hm. The more my father amplified the spell – and it took several years to perfect it– the more that… creature… took over. Normal food became indigestible. Only fresh-killed meat could nourish me. At nightfall, I would change into… that beast.” He shuddered, sipping his tea.

“You never will again. But what broke the curse?”

“You did. I discovered the answer a long time ago in my father’s books.”

“I looked in the library, but I didn't find anything.”

“I know. It’s in my room. I kept it from you. I didn't want you to feel pressured. Briefly, someone had to fall in love with me, cry for me and kiss me without expecting anything in return.”

“And the bond?”

“Another side-effect. I was falling in love with you, but the curse prevented me from seeing it. The bond was formed as a way for my heart to express what it couldn't otherwise. I thought I could last three days without you, but no longer. Once you were gone too long, fear and loneliness broke my heart, which in turn triggered my… illness.”

Harry nodded. “I understand. So then… you love me, too?”

“I do. Please stay with me. There’s so much I don’t know how to handle. I haven’t felt emotions this rich in more years than you’ve been alive. I’m going to need your help.”

“Try stopping me.”

They grinned at each other and sipped their tea. Then Harry asked, “Are you ever going to tell me what the deal is with those roses?”

Snape flushed pink. “Er, about that.” He shrugged. “I liked them and was looking for an excuse to needle James. Then it occurred to me if I could get someone or something to live here with me, I wouldn’t be so lonely all the time.”

Harry teased, “What, the Death Eaters weren’t friendly enough for you?” 

“They left me alone most of the time,” he said. “I think my unemotionality unnerved them. They never came here. No one’s ever been here but James.”

“I’m glad he came,” Harry said. “Awfully glad.”

“Me, too.”

They sipped their tea and gave each other speculative looks before Harry jumped to his feet.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” Snape asked.

“I forgot Moxie and Pepsi!”

They were through the trapdoor in seconds, hurrying off to tell the rest of their ‘family’ everything was wonderful and they’d better get busy living happily ever after.

And that’s precisely what they did.

 

THE END


End file.
